Some Differences Run Deep
by ElCaballito
Summary: Qui-gon is forced into judging all day during Exhibition Day when he really wants nothing to do with prospective apprentices. During a competition he starts to see how the angry and impulsive Obi-wan Kenobi is different than the angry Xanatos.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or these books or anything. If I did, I'd get myself a pool full of pudding and that would be rather delicious. NomNom. Gersharazon and Sonu are original characters, otherwise all named characters are cannon. The funky italicized words are all canon, as well, but I don't know where from specifically. Enjoy ******

The seven year old Twi'lik girl beat the twelve year old humanoid boy back and forth across the arena, their blue blades flashing as she gradually worked him against a stack of blocks which stood three meters high and five meters across, offering a narrow escape if any at all. Qui-gon saw that she was moving aggressively enough to corner him and score the final point before the before the computer kicked in and rearranged the configuration of the obstacles on the arena. When the pair was one step away from the corner Qui-gon began to raise his hand – a split second later the Twi'lik's blade sizzled against the boy's elbow. They halted at once and separated, gasping for breath. The smell of ozone and salt made the air heavy while the initiates watched silently on.

Qui-gon suppressed his weariness toward this ploy, rallied the shreds of his enthusiasm together, and said, "Match. Well done, both of you. You both demonstrated skill and grace."

They bowed and left the arena. Qui-gon was finally relieved of his chore. The Council at least had enough respect for his intelligence to not bother hiding their decision to place him as judge over the Exhibition Day tournament as an attempt to make him take on another apprentice. They came up with a new idea every year, and he tried to evade it every year. There weren't any bad feelings from either side, it was more like an exasperating game. Qui-gon was certain that many of these initiates would become excellent Knights – under the guidance of someone other than him. He turned to leave.

"I know what you're thinking, and you're not done, yet," someone said behind him.

Qui-gon didn't need to turn around to know it was Gersharazon Jelesha. He recognized her voice well enough, by now, and he recognized the sudden drop in energy from the initiates waiting at the other side of the arena, opposite from the Knights and Masters. They knew what was coming.

"You are assigned as my line judge," she said.

Of course he was. The Council was apparently very determined this year.

Her silver hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her lightsaber was activated in her hand, tuned to the lowest level. She saluted him and brought the tip to the ground with a curtsey. Qui-gon repeated the formality and kept in stride with her as she hopped onto the synthetic-padded platform of the arena, trying not to get too flustered. He agreed that it was good to push initiates hard with many challenges on Exhibition day, but if the Council was going to exhaust them with a whole new set of competitions, the competitions might as well reflect some skill a Jedi actually needed. Gersharazon's specialty did _not_.

"We'll be dueling Ceremonial _Sii-Cho_ according the modern rule records," she said briskly. "If you're not sure about something, look it up. The equipment is under the seats."

"Gersh, how _modern _are those rules?"

"Forty centuries or so. There's some debate."

The computer dematerialized the blocks and the graphics program activated beneath their feet on the surface of the arena. The slightly bouncy, black cover reverted to a material that resembled red hardwood and a blue strip appeared on the floor and began to grow. It stretched six meters long and one-point-five meters wide. A white strip formed and cut the mat lengthwise in half.

Qui-gon stood by Gersharazon's side, as patiently as he could, for the next two hours while everyone had a chance to fight everyone else. The rules of Ceremonial demanded that opponents stayed on the strip at all times, always faced each other, never crossed one foot in front of the other while advancing, and demanded that one hand must remain on the weapon and the other hand must remain by the side at all times, although switching weapon hands was permitted. Gersharazon did not allow anyone to speak while they were on the strip, overrode the electronic scoring system in favor of a line judge, and frequently changed the rules when she felt like it. It was a style of combat based off of the duels of the earliest days of the lightsaber's existence, back when the power cell had to be plugged into a battery hooked on to the duelist's belt. You had to keep your hand on the belt because if you didn't steady the connection you risked a short out. Just about every movement risked a short out, rendering the lightsaber little more than a weapon used in ceremonial, gentleman-like duels. Qui-gon could tell that almost all of the initiates were frustrated by the rules and the judging, probably because they too recognized this form as archaic.

The way she presided over this competition had changed little over fifteen years and Qui-gon remembered how Xanatos had fought the day Qui-gon accepted him as an apprentice. He played the memory in his mind while Gersharazon halted the opponents and informed them that they would have to continue the match while balancing tropical fruit on their heads.

Xanatos hovered low at the center of the strip, sleek as a Yavinian panther across from his opponent. He had proved over and over again that he was a superior swordsman to the bald, green skinned boy in front of him. Qui-gon was not sure what this strip match, a vague impression of real battle, would prove.

Gersharazon gave the command to begin.

The two rushed at each other as fast as the no-crossing over rule allowed. Xanatos feinted towards the shoulder, withdrew his blade and whipped around to the green boy's hip. His opponent beat his blade away wildly. They tangled together for a moment before Xanatos scored a hit on his opponent's knee.

"Halt," Gersharazon said. "I saw an attack _com shiak_ from my left, a rather beautiful disengage, remise _com cho mok_, a really bad parry, some weird counterattack which landed, but I don't care so Xanatos doesn't get a point. It wasn't pretty. Do it again and make it pretty."

More evidence that this exercise was pointless. In a real situation, you couldn't worry about pretty.

The opponent scored the next two points with touches that barely landed. One attack brushed Xanatos's knuckle and the other one slid past his elbow with a soft whisper. When Gersharazon started the action again Xanatos rushed forward, brought his lightsaber over his head and swung it down with enough force to leave a little burn across the boy's shoulder. The attack landed like lightning.

"Halt. Attack from my left _com sai cha_, Xanatos, you brought your blade beyond a ninety degree angle to attack, that's brutality and I'm not giving you a point. Normally I'd let you off with a warning. But..." Gersharazon tapped her fingers on the hilt of her lighstaber. "…but I'm not going to. You're no longer allowed to breathe during the action. Re-center."

A wave of rage swept across the arena from Xanatos but he quickly silenced it. He smiled, saluted both Gersharazon and his opponent with a flourish, and proceeded to win the match without breathing.

The final match was Obi-wan Kenobi against a ten-year-old girl who wasn't much of a match for him. The previous tournament showed that he outclassed her in just about every dimension of combat.

The opponents sparred up and down the strip for a few minutes before Obi-wan closed in to attack. The girl parried his blade and managed to brush past his shoulder while Obi-wan finished his attack in a slash across her chest.

"Halt. Master Qui-gon, what did you see?"

"Attack from Mister Kenobi to the _sun_ line, Sonu parries _de djiem _and," Qui-gon hesitated because he knew the rules and did not like them. He continued anyways. "Sonu parries _de djem_ and regains right-of-way, Sonu reposts in _shiim, shiim_ lands. First score goes to Miss Sonu."

"That's what I saw as well. Re-center."

It was a result of the right-of-way rules which gave the point to anyone who landed a touch immediately after parrying an attack. That was well enough when the attacks where equal but in this case the rule override common sense.

Obi-wan took control of the action immediately and beat Sonu back almost to the end of her strip. They struggled at the border, blades an intricate blur, until Obi-wan brought his saber back and struck Sonu on the side, sweeping her to her knees. He helped her back to her feet and they moved back to the center.

"Kenobi," Gersharazon said, "You brought your arm behind your body. Brutality, it's late and I don't feel like giving out warnings. Let's see… you're only allowed to fight on one foot and you don't get a point unless you hit Sonu from her shoulder to her wrist."

He was flustered now, a precursor to the anger Qui-gon saw when he fought against Bruck Chun. There was skill but his emotions were untempered. He'd make a good apprentice for someone who knew how to deal with that, if this hadn't been his final chance at becoming an apprentice.

Sonu had the upper hand and controlled each of their bouts. Each time she scored a point Qui-gon sensed Kenobi sink deeper into frustration and anger. Sonu won the match by a comfortable margin and Obi-wan sulked in his corner, probably thinking his chances of ever being chosen were gone with this defeat, even if he logically knew that most Jedi accepted that this was not a valid test of his skill with a lightsaber. When he came to the center to pay his formal respects to Sonu, Qui-gon, and Gersharazon he had calmed himself considerably. He paid his respects sincerely, though he couldn't quite bring himself to look Qui-gon in the eye.

It was probably for the better. Qui-gon did not want to give him false hope.

Obi-wan walked off the strip, looking sore but accepting. Everyone else left the arena except for Gersharazon. Qui-gon stayed because, no matter how silly it was, he admitted that she was his superior in this context and it would be inappropriate for him to leave without her permission.

"Would you like a round?" she asked when they were alone. "We can forget the formalities and score-keeping, it'll just be for fun."

"I could use the exercise. And only because we are forgetting the formalities."

They stepped back, activated their lightsabers, and bowed. She began to advance.

"I would be happy to drop the no-talking rule. Did you see anyone you're interested in?"

"No. And you know why. What is the point of this type of competition, anyways?"

He beat her blade away and moved in to attack. She trapped his tip against her blade and flicked him away. They began to exchange attacks and parries.

"Because I think it's useful and practical for students to know how to fight in a straight line when the person they're against is going to act like a gentleman and when no one is going to interfere and when no one will be shooting at them and when all that matters is touching their lightsaber to their opponent according to a set of rules established centuries of centuries ago. Don't you use that in your missions? I know I do. For example, I know that you are much better with a lightsaber than I am, but I feel like poking you in the toe."

She started poking toward his toe.

"Clearly, you do not think this is a good way to judge how good students are with a lightsaber. "

"Poke, poke, poke. I want to poke your toe!"

He attacked her lightsaber-arm. She met him with a parry that felt like iron. She whipped away from his blade, dropped low, and poked him in the toe. It was an attack Qui-gon could have easily avoided with a back flip, leap, or sidestep, and followed with a counter attack that Gersharazon had not the skill to dodge. But those actions were prohibited in Ceremonial _Sii-Cho_ because if you did acrobatics with one of the ancient lightsabers strange things would happen.

They moved back to the center and with a nod began again.

"So what do you want to accomplish by holding these matches? It's a style of combat based on a time when the lightsaber was unstable and impractical."

"I recreated some of the old models when I was a Padawan. The results were very entertaining because I played with them in the organic chemistry research lab. The chemical reactions that the shortouts caused were rather spectacular."

"Most students resent it, you certainly know that."

She began to advance and gave a few playful attacks.

"I told you, I think it's practical."

She moved aggressively now, and beat Qui-gon back down the strip. She took control of his blade after every attack, caught it in a bind, and drove him back further. He was soon at the end of the strip and struggled so hard to block Gersharazon's attacks that he had no opening to counter. A thought came to him.

"Because it demands that students face their opponent and always look them in the eye," he said. "Especially if one student is better than the other. There is nowhere to escape and at some point you reach the back of the strip and have to go into what intimidates you the most. Because it demands grace and discipline when you are tired, and accepts nothing less. Because it punishes you for using force when a whisper will be sufficient and rewards you for knowing the difference. It summarizes what the Jedi stand for. That is why the history of the lightsaber and the history of the Jedi are indistinguishable."

She wove in and landed on Qui-gon's shin. They moved back to the center.

"You place the highest respect in the rules. Why do you change them on impulse?"

"Because sometimes the Force guides me to. It is an exercise to reveal character and I don't always know what my decisions reveal. But I trust that the Force guides me to make the right calls at the right times. It might not be any of my business what reasons are behind it."

"So did you see anything exceptional today?"

She shrugged. "Me? No. Bruck Chun is trouble."

"Want to have a real sparring match?"

"Not particularly. I enjoyed winning against you, for once."

They turned up the power on their lightsabers and sparred until they were both panting and smiling. Gersharazon was covered in red, shiny marks and wobbled on her feet while Qui-gon had pulled through with only one bruise on his chest.

Gersharazon was wrong, Qui-gon thought as he walked through the dim corridors, after he had helped her wrap her sore elbow. Qui-gon could sense the Force now, moving through the years to guide him to this moment and a realization. Gersharazon did not see it, but he did. In the same situation, when presented with an unfair ruling on the strip, Xanatos had shown great rage and covered it with a charming smile. The darkness had still been there, but he was a master at disguising it. Obi-wan had felt anger, wrestled with it, let it beat him down a bit, wrestled with it some more, and then conquered it. It was a difference between the two boys which ran deep: the difference between a façade and sincerity, the difference between menace and immaturity, and the difference between the true Dark side and a shadow created in the brightness of the Light side. This Obi-wan Kenobi could be great, some day. It was a shame that no one saw him as a prospective apprentice.

_This is the first fic I've actually completed, so comments of all types are most welcome ___


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